


petty theft

by groundopenwide



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen, M/M, Meet-Ugly (kind of), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26125168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: “Is that—”“A toaster,” says Kyle. “Yeah.”
Relationships: Kyle Simmons/Dan Smith
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	petty theft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [written_you_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/written_you_down/gifts).



> haven't flexed my writing muscles in a couple of months, so here's something short n sweet based on this prompt: _“you had a party and i got really drunk and stole your toaster, so i showed up the next day to return it and you were really hungover so i made you breakfast (but i burnt all of it)” AU._ i may or may not already have a sequel in mind...we shall see!
> 
> this one goes out to written_you_down, who inspires me on the daily with their writing and their kindness. thanks for being you!
> 
> feel free to come chat w me on [tumblr.](http://goodlesson.tumblr.com)

“Is that—”

“A toaster,” says Kyle. “Yeah.”

The living room is way too fucking bright. Will’s watching a rerun of some footie match on the telly, and every screech from the announcer is like nails dragging across the chalkboard-like surface of Kyle’s hungover brain. He grips the toaster tighter between his clammy hands.

“Just how pissed were you last night?”

“This conversation is killing me. Literally. Does that answer your question?”

Will smiles, smug. “Coffee’s in the pot.”

“Ta,” Kyle says, then carries the toaster into the kitchen.

He doesn’t recall how he ended up with said toaster. Actually, he doesn’t recall much of anything that happened last night after Nick tipped the boxed wine into his mouth. Now he’s got a splitting headache, a massive purple stain on the front of his shirt, and a text on his phone from someone named  _ CHARLO!!  _ sent at 1:45 AM that just consists of three cowboy-hat emojis in a row.

Kyle fills his mug to the brim and drops down at the table, inhaling the steam rising from his coffee until he can squint his eyes open wide enough to look at his phone for more than five seconds. He types up a message to the mysterious  _ CHARLO!!: _

_ (11:23) _

_ Do you know why I have a toaster?  _

**_(11:24)_ **

**_so THAT’S where it went!!_ **

**_(11:25)_ **

**_do you mind dropping it off? soph already ripped me a new one. 714 south st flat 2_ **

Kyle can’t imagine picking up his toothbrush right now, much less hauling a toaster across campus to some random stranger’s flat (well, a sort-of-stranger’s flat—he did attend a party there last night, after all) , but if he doesn’t he’ll probably get reported for petty theft, so suffer he must. 

He allows himself a five-minute freezing cold shower, throws up a bit in the drain, then gets dressed and downs as many paracetamol as the label allows. When he makes it back downstairs to fetch the toaster, Will is conveniently nowhere to be found. 

Bastard.

It takes Kyle ages to make it to South Street due to a) the toaster he’s lugging along with him, and b) the fact that he has to stop to catch his breath every couple of minutes. By the time he’s standing on the front stoop of Flat 2, he’s a sweaty, shaking mess. He rings the bell and tries very hard to crush the urge to throw up (again).

“Um,” says the guy who answers the door, eyes darting between Kyle’s pale face and the toaster in his hands.

“I think this is yours?”

“Is it?”

“I texted someone.” Kyle winces. “‘Charlo?’”

“Charlie,” the guy realizes. “Well, shit. I didn’t even notice it was missing.”

Now that Kyle can be relieved that he does, in fact, have the correct flat, he has the time to notice that Strange Guy in the Doorway doesn’t look to be faring much better than himself. His hair’s a mess, his complexion is awfully white beneath his big, tortoise-shell glasses, and he’s squinting like the sun has personally offended him. He’s also cute. Like, well cute. Even in his greasy, disheveled state. His eyes are blue—very, very blue. 

“I guess I took it home with me last night. Don’t have a clue why. Sorry,” Kyle adds belatedly.

“That wine was a bitch.”.

Kyle nods, then regrets it when his head pangs sharply. 

“Ow,” he says aloud.

Strange Guy looks at him with sympathy. “You can come in, if you want. I was just about to overcook some eggs.”

Kyle doesn’t even know this guy’s name, but there’s absolutely no way he’ll survive the trek back home right now, so he follows him inside.

“You can set it there,” Strange Guy says once they’re in the kitchen, pointing to a glaringly vacant spot on the counter. 

Kyle lets out an audible sigh of relief once his arms are free, shaking them out to get rid of the stiffness. Strange Guy shoots him a funny look from where he’s standing over by the stove.

“Did you walk that all the way here?”

“Yeah. Mind if I—”

He sits down at the little table by the window without waiting for a response. The kitchen is like that of every uni flat he’s ever seen—dirty dishes stacked next to the sink, wrinkled takeout menus posted on the refrigerator door, mismatched towels hanging from the oven handle. The bin in the corner is overflowing with beer cans and empty bottles.

“I’m Kyle.”

“Dan.”

“You really don’t need to feed me. I stole your toaster. I deserve to suffer.”

Dan shrugs. He’s got his back turned to Kyle while he cracks some eggs into a pan, and Kyle watches the sharp edges of his shoulders move beneath his shirt.

“You brought it back,” says Dan. “Also, you look like you’re about to keel over any second—no offense—and I don’t think Soph would be very happy if I let someone die in our flat.”

Kyle leans forward and rests his forehead flat on the table, closing his eyes. “Just call my mum if I go, alright?”

Dan laughs. It’s a nice laugh, soft but full. It soothes some of the ache in Kyle’s brain. “Alright,” Dan says.

The kitchen gets quiet after that. Kyle listens to Dan tinkering around at the stove, hears the toaster click on and the lurch of the refrigerator door when Dan pulls it open at one point. He can’t remember the last time someone cooked him breakfast. Will lives off straight coffee in the mornings like the heathen he is (not that he’d ever do something as considerate as cook a meal for a mate, anyway), so this is...nice. Even if Dan is a mostly-stranger and Kyle’s so hungover he feels like the walking dead and the kitchen...smells like burnt bread?

“Shit, the toast,” Dan curses.

Kyle lifts his head just in time to see Dan fumble a couple of charred slices of bread from the toaster. 

“I bring back the toaster and you use it for evil,” Kyle calls over to him.

Dan gives him a dirty look before turning back to focus on buttering the toast with much more vigor than is probably necessary. He looks a bit like a confused puppy when he’s irritated, all scrunched eyes and tilted head. 

_ Can we go be hungover together somewhere else? Like, maybe in your bed?  _ Kyle wants to ask. He bites his tongue.

“The eggs are fine, at least,” Dan huffs as he carries two plates over to the table and sits down. 

The eggs do indeed look perfectly edible compared to the black-as-night toast. And the smell of them isn’t sending Kyle into a nauseous spiral, which is just grand. He accepts the fork Dan offers him and digs in.

“They’re great,” he says around a mouthful, spewing egg all over the table. “Thanks.”

Dan’s expression is a mixture of amusement and disgust. “A thief with zero table manners. What else am I gonna learn about you in the next...half hour?”

“I like cats. A lot.”

“Important information. What else?”

“Is this a job interview? I forgot my CV,” says Kyle. His hangover seems to be evaporating the longer Dan smiles at him. It’s like...voodoo magic or something. “My music library is almost exclusively Ariana Grande. I play the piano.”

“Really? So do I.”

“Enjoy Ariana? Play the piano?”

“Both,” Dan says decisively.

“Nice,” Kyle says. “Bonus fact: I’m a halfway-decent dancer.”

“That’s good, considering I’m absolute shit. I just hop around like the Energizer bunny.”

Kyle can absolutely picture it—cute, dorky Dan with his head full of floppy hair, jumping up and down like an idiot because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. “Now that, I’d love to see. Shame I missed out on it last night.”

“Shame,” Dan agrees, and Kyle almost chokes on his eggs. Then, as if nothing’s happened at all, Dan picks at his burned toast and goes on, “We’re having some mates over again on Thursday. If you wanted to see it, I mean.”

Kyle blinks. “Should I bring my own toaster as recompense?”

Another smile from Dan, wider this time. He looks up, and Kyle was already feeling woozy to begin with, but christ almighty, he might actually pass out at this rate if Dan keeps squinting at him like that, a little happy, a little tired, and a lot adorable.

“Keep it,” Dan tells him, “Then you can make me breakfast the next morning.”

Nothing good has ever come from Kyle blacking out at a party before. This is definitely a most welcome first.

“Deal,” he says.


End file.
